


Sleep is for the weak

by elysiontower



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Time Skips, Trauma, Whump, i guess?, implied Galolio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiontower/pseuds/elysiontower
Summary: Nothing goes away that easily.
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey do you ever think about how gueira was the first pod to activate during the test sequence and that meis was right there. i do! i do a lot! what do you mean it's 3 am

Some nights, he can't sleep.

He lays there for hours, staring at the room around him. Tracing the patterns he finds in the sterile, textured ceiling. It looks like it'd hurt if he touched it, and he wonders why anyone would make it like that.

Maybe he'll glance at the plants. The moonlight filters in through partially raised blinds, coating the leaves in cold, pale tints. Their shadows become long and spindly as they reach across the carpet floor and painted white walls, but they're nothing like how he remembers. As a child, he would stare at the dark, crawling limbs reaching out. He would wait, anxiously, for them to grab him, just like his brother scared him into believing they would.

Now, shadowy figures don't scare him. Human hands have done far worse.

He checks the clock, its LEDs faded from use because even if they only bought it two months ago, secondhand stores are the only things they can afford right now. Are the only ones not still under extensive repair. It's only three; his shift isn't until six.

Meis lays there, wide awake, because that's just what his life is now. Has been for a while. 

Looking over to the figure at his side, he observes the rise and fall of Gueira's chest. The least he can do is be thankful that now, after everything, his partner can sleep. Years of the flames keeping the other man together, functional, _surviving_ , were undone in an instant; Meis still recalls the sleepless nights in the hospital, among so many other agonized Burnish, at Gueira's bedside. First praying for him to wake up, begging him not to leave him alone, and then eventually keeping him awake through the pain until finally, _finally_ someone could do something to help. 

All Meis was capable of was waiting there with him, holding his hand, useless. Pathetic. Even now, staying awake by his side is all he can do for him.

Somehow, it's better than the alternative.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see it. Still hear it. He remembers all of it.

_The one time he fell asleep, his hands did nothing._

_They hung in the air, limp in their restraints, strained and sore from the weight of his body. Everything hurt. Everyone around him hurt. Meis was nothing more than a ragdoll as the people he worked so desperately to save were locked up to die._

_The engine groaned, readying to claw its way to life at their expense. Of course, he could never forget the sudden flare of that ugly, hideous red glow to his right. Nor the way his heart tore itself from him when he realized who it was. His mind would never let him forget._

**_No, please no_ ** _, he had thought._ **_Anything but this._ **

_None of them left that engine unscathed; Meis knew that. He couldn't think so selfishly when they were all feeling the same grief, the same horror. He was no different from them. But knowing that wasn't enough for his subconscious, of course it wasn't, because all that it ever wanted to replay in his dreams was the first scream he heard that day. The one he would give anything to have never heard, to take his place, to just_ **_spare him_ ** _._

_Meis didn't remember anything after that. Not the tearing at his own limbs, nor the hoarse shredding in his throat, nor even the cries that melted in with the people around him. No, none of that. Just the one sound that promised to haunt him until he was six feet under: the agonized shriek of a lover he couldn't protect._

_That night, he didn't notice when it was over. He couldn't process the warmth wrapping itself around him in an embrace, nor the gently hushed voice trying to soothe him, or even the dampness of his cheeks or his sweat-soaked shirt. Couldn't notice the others coming in, having heard his sobs. Only screams rang in his ears._

_It was embarrassing, sitting in the living room in the dead of night. Gueira didn't let go of him once as he slowly ran his fingers through his hair, untangling dark strands. He kept assuring him that he was okay, that he was safe, and Meis didn't have the heart to tell the truth. Instead he sat there with him on that couch, leaning into his arms, taking in the reminder that they made it out alive._

_Lio's hands clasped around one of Meis's own, thumb smoothing over skin, and there was understanding in his silence. Dreams were their own sort of plague, weren't they?_

_Even Galo, who was barely more than an acquaintance, a friend of a friend, extended his own support. Handed him tea, told him, "_ **_Hold onto the mug for a bit. It's warm; it'll help._ ** _" He spoke from experience; anyone could tell that._

Meis hates to think about that night. 

Despite all the love he's been granted, it's not enough. Sleep doesn't find him, and it hurts when it does. Is he ungrateful? It almost feels like it is, for love to still leave him so helpless. He can't even hope to repay them for it. The least he can do is not burden them again

So he lays there, eyes reluctantly open, waiting for the clock to strike five.


	2. Still hanging on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything stays bad.

His dreams, as of late, are few and far between. To be fair, it wasn't always like that; oh, how many years went into relearning the peace that used to come to him so naturally. Remembering how to fill his lungs with air, to loosen his grip on sweat-soaked sheets, to let those tears fall-- after a childhood spent repressing, only to be followed by an adulthood wasted in fear, what would peace really bring?  _ Real _ peace? Meis knew that he had an uphill battle awaiting him. That all his people did.

Maybe that fight's been worth it, he thinks, as he listens. Focuses. What does he hear?

The birds rustle outside. Better than anyone, they're the first to welcome the dawn before it arrives. From the other side of the window, where he's almost certain they've nested, he hears their tiny, high-pitched calls. They're disorganized, they lack unity, yet still they sing together. Who does that remind him of? 

The clock ticks away the seconds. Meis remembers the day they went out, finally able to move into their own apartment: a bigger space than what they could ever occupy with Galo. The pair knew at the time that it would feel empty, that Lio's presence would be missed, and even the big idiot had wormed his way into their hearts, but they weren't worried. It wouldn't be that way for long. Instead, they could go,  _ did _ go shopping- for kitchenware, towels, bedsheets, other necessities. Meis doesn't remember what they bought that particular day, save for that clock on their wall. He still thinks it's hard to read at a glance, and wholly impractical, but the verbal acknowledgement of their achievement, of their peace, still rings in his chest. 

"At least it looks pretty," Gueira had said. Neither of them realized, until the words had escaped him, that shift in perspective. Suddenly, they could worry about that. About aesthetics. About something as mundane as decorating a place they can call home. Meis isn't sure; did the day feel warmer after that? 

He hears the steady breathing beside him, feels it against his cheek, but it's not uncomfortable. It's warm, like the arms wrapped around him, like the body holding him close. He hears the heart beating in that chest, a steady rhythm, one that brings Meis ease. That gentle reminder that they're alive. That  _ he's  _ alive. It's all he needs. 

Meis lets himself shift, returning the embrace that comforts him. He holds that flame in his own arms, treasures it like he always has, content to remain like this until he listens once more, hearing the soft hum of his husband in sleep. 

Only then does he dare open his eyes, the darkness fading to the grey morning sun seeping through the window. 

At first he hazards a glance to the side, at that same, simplistic clock hanging up on their wall, but it's too blurry from his position. He's not about to put contacts in just for this. Meis's eye catches the hazy silhouette of green, the blurred form of the plant hanging from the shelf. Gueira remembers its name much better than he'll ever bother to, with those long vines draping themselves out of their pot, but maybe that's just something else endearing about his partner. Meis certainly thinks so.

That same man stirs, ever so slowly, into consciousness, and Meis can't help but stare. What little light filters in seems to be drawn to Gueira, settling in the strands of his hair, in the lashes of his eyes, along the freckles dusting dark skin. He's always been vibrant, an untamed wildfire, but it's moments like this where he truly  _ glows _ . Meis holds close a tender flame, and it's almost worth wondering if there's still just one last Burnish on Earth. Maybe it's a stupid thought. 

His hand comes up, and he doesn't stop himself; cupping Gueira's cheeks, his thumb smooths over skin still soft, even through all the old scars and the subtle new wrinkles, the signs of stubble and the slowly greying hairs he'll  _ certainly  _ dye over, as if age could never marr the beautiful man Meis holds so dear. Those same sunset eyes that once, no, still carry the passion of Mad Burnish now flutter open, taking the time to wake up, focus, and lock with his own.

"Did I wake you?"

Gueira only smiles when he's asked, turning his head in to Meis's hand, kissing his palm. "I was  _ wondering _ what that feeling was." 

"Having a good dream, then?" Meis teases, planting a kiss to his husband's cheek. 

"Hmmm, I guess, but it's a lot better waking up to you." 

"Fucker. You're already awake enough to be this sappy?" 

"Aw, can't I be nice to the number one love of my life?" Gueira grins, smug, knowing full-well Meis's reaction to such terms of endearment - especially the part where he shoves him away, turning his back to him to hide his face. In any event, the red-haired man only follows close, arms lazily wrapped around his husband's torso.

"Dork," Meis mutters, feeling lips pepper kisses along his neck. 

"Only for you."

Rolling his eyes, Meis takes the time to observe the room, realizing the morning light has continued to slowly fill in. "You think the kids are awake yet?"

There's a hum from behind him. "It's still early, yeah? We can make 'em breakfast later. Been a while since we got to cook together."

Meis nods, placing his hands over Gueira's, grounding himself. The thought crosses his mind often, even years later, about how this is all real. That he's actually awake. He doesn't have to open his eyes to damp caves or tattered ruins, only to pray that he'll be enough to keep everyone safe. Their children are safe in their beds, not in frozen cells wrapped in bandages, watching their friends die. It's hard to believe they're past all that. Sometimes, when they close their eyes, they still aren't. It may be rare now, but it never hurts any less.

Well, nothing they haven't gotten past before. 

"I  _ guess _ we have time," Meis sighs. "Wanna sleep in more?"

The short, quick laugh he hears is like music to him. 

"I'd argue that we should be responsible and get shit done now,  _ but… _ " Meis feels Gueira lean his head against his neck, pretending to sleep. "You're just  _ so _ warm."

He can't help but huff a sigh of his own. "Well then, if making you move is  _ so _ mean, I guess that settles it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I initially wrote this as a rewrite of my very first Gueimeis fic, but I felt dishonest about updating it as the same fic but obnoxious uploading it as its own. So instead I've made it into a proper follow-up of the first chapter. I hope my writing's improved since then, but please feel free to leave comments and critique.


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